Zorn delicately scooted the bowl of fruit across the desk toward Riker. “Would you care for something, Commander? I am told these fruits are considered an Earth delicacy.”
“Well, if there’s an apple there. . . .” Riker glanced over the selection. He saw grapes, oranges, bananas, pears, peaches, tangerines, strawberries . . . but no apple. “I guess not,” he said, disappointed.
“I am sorry, Commander.”
“It doesn’t matter. What I was saying was—” He glanced past Zorn to the credenza behind the desk and stared. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Zorn turned his head to follow Riker’s gaze. There was a second bowl of fruit there, and a gleaming red apple surmounted the pile.
“Ah. Yes. There was another selection here. Please help yourself.”
Riker rose and moved around Zorn’s desk to pick up and examine the almost glowing red apple. “I swear I didn’t notice this.” He sniffed it, and the sweet aroma that filled his nostrils instantly reminded him of the apple tree that had grown in his family’s back yard when he was a boy.
“Does your failure to notice it make it unwelcome?”
Riker shook his head. “Not at all, Groppler.”
Zorn smiled confidently. “I trust it will be the same with Farpoint Station, Commander. A few easily answered questions about it won’t make Starfleet appreciate it less.”
Riker eyed Zorn thoughtfully. Too smooth an answer, he thought. Too glib. He took a bite of the apple, its tangy tartness arousing his tastebuds as he chewed it. Zorn waited for a reply, and Riker took his time before he finally said, “I’m sure it won’t, sir.” He held up the apple and smiled. “This is delicious. Thank you.” He turned toward the door and tossed a final line over his shoulder. “Good morning, Groppler Zorn.”
Zorn boosted himself out of his chair as the door closed behind Riker. He turned around and hissed angrily at the empty room.
“You have been told not to do that. Why can’t you understand? It will arouse their suspicions. . . .” He folded his arms firmly. “. . . and if that happens, we will have to punish you. We will, I promise you!”
Hughes had discovered the soda fountain tucked in a corner of the vast shopping area of the station. Geordi LaForge loved it. It was an exact duplication of the most traditional soda fountain he had ever seen. The marble-topped counter; the taps for soda water and syrup; the covered bins for ice cream cartons; dishes of nuts, cherries, chocolate and candy sprinkles; the high stools on the opposite side of the counter—every detail was correct.
The two young officers sat at the counter enjoying the ambiance. LaForge noticed that the ceiling fans that swished the air around were beautiful reproductions of early 20th Century wooden-bladed fans. The counterman, wearing striped shirt and white pants and a white fore-and-aft cap, handed Hughes a sundae that LaForge considered pretty plain. A thick cone of vanilla ice cream decked in a coat of fudge syrup and capped with a crown of frothy whipped cream sat in a lacy silver sundae dish.
Hughes grinned happily at LaForge. “I’ve been waiting for one of these. The Hood just doesn’t have a good ice cream maker. It always tastes synthetic.” He dipped into the concoction, savored it, and his eyes closed as he murmured in delight. “Oh, my. . . .”
“What?”
“It’s just like the ice cream my grandma used to make on the farm. Try some?”
“Nah.” LaForge tilted his head, dreaming . . . remembering. “Nobody could make what I’d really like to have.” The counterman watched him, listening intently. “There was only one place—in my home town—that ever made a chocolate sundae with peanut butter fudge syrup and a mound of blue whipped cream and a cherry on top.” He shook his head and sighed softly. God, those were good.
“What was the significance of the blue whipped cream?” Hughes asked.
LaForge grinned at him cheerfully. “Who knows? That’s just how they had to be. Last time I had one was before I left for the Academy my first year—”
The counterman reached out and gently placed before him a chocolate sundae in a traditional tulip glass, the ice cream topped with peanut butter fudge syrup, a satisfyingly high mound of blue whipped cream, and a bright red maraschino cherry on top. LaForge studied it thoughtfully for a long moment, then he picked up the spoon and tasted a big mouthful.
Hughes watched curiously. “Is it—”
“Perfect,” LaForge sighed. “Just like magic.” Then, realizing what he’d said, he looked at Hughes. Hughes stared back. Just like magic.
“I think we ought to talk to Commander Riker,” LaForge said.
“Right,” Hughes said, standing.
“Hold it,” LaForge said, clamping a hand on Hughes’ shoulder. “After I finish this.”
The mall foyer was a dazzling construction of trilurium and glass, light and airy and decorated with tastefully arranged clusters of trees, shrubs and flowers, some of them Earth plants and others of alien origin. A number of Starfleet officers passed to and from the mall area through the foyer. Most of them were visitors from the Hood, Riker knew, down for the opportunity to look around the station. All personnel transferring to the Enterprise had been given transit quarters on Farpoint Station.
As he entered the foyer, he spotted Dr. Beverly Crusher and her son, Wesley. Crusher would be the Enterprise’s new chief medical officer. Riker knew her career record was so outstanding she had achieved the position after only thirteen years in Starfleet. She was also one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.
“Dr. Crusher!” he called out.
Wesley looked around and then back at his mother. “It’s Commander Riker.”
Dr. Crusher slowed to allow Riker to join them, but she did not smile. She was naturally reserved with strangers. Riker had only met her briefly on a few social situations aboard the Hood on its journey out to Farpoint. She wasn’t one for small talk, and after seeing how she dealt with the lines unattached male officers had offered her, Riker had decided not to approach her in that way.
He had noticed on first meeting Beverly that her face and figure would ensure that she always looked at least ten years younger than her actual age. But her deep blue eyes reflected not only a quick intelligence but a strong, vibrant personality. If she was retiring around strangers, that was her business.
Wesley, her auburn-haired son, was small, compact and brimming with the same lively intelligence, multiplied by at least four. He was only moderately good looking, but he glowed with enthusiasm for life and had a cheerful, forthcoming personality. Riker had had a few talks with him about starship technology on the trip out. Wesley asked thoughtful questions, and Riker had discovered the boy listened to the answers.
“Hello, Wesley. Enjoying your stay at Farpoint Station?”
“Yes, sir.”
Riker realized that Beverly had acknowledged his presence and was waiting for him to proceed. “I saw you and thought I’d join your stroll. If I may.” He smiled charmingly.
Beverly seemed dubious—and uncharmed. “We were planning to do some shopping.”
Riker persisted. “I’ve been meaning to visit the mall myself. If I’m welcome?”
“Of course.” She began to move to the glass doors that let into the covered airy mall. Riker strode beside her, with Wesley trailing a little to the rear, studying the two adults.
The mall followed the same theme as the foyer—sun and air, pleasant vegetation and colorful, fragrant blossoms. It was dotted with attractive shops and brightly decorated booths which dispensed food, beverages, and merchandise of all kinds. The Bandi merchants were all attentive and almost too polite to the Starfleet personnel who were buying their wares. Beverly scanned the immediate shops and booths, weighing her interest in them and ignoring Riker.
“Mom’s not really unfriendly, sir. She’s just shy around men she doesn’t know,” Wesley said guilelessly.
Beverly snapped around to him, her cheeks flaming. “Wesley!”
“An excellent policy,” Riker said. “I feel the same way
about ladies I’ve just met.” He looked at Beverly with an amused smile, and she was forced to smile back.
“Doctor Crusher . . .” Riker began. “Although we’re not officially part of the Enterprise yet, I thought there might be something useful we could do while we wait.”
Beverly glanced at him, one eyebrow rising in a question. “Useful? How, Commander?”
“Investigating some things I’ve noticed here.” Beverly moved away from him, toward a table in front of a shop dealing in exotic materials and fabrics. The bolts of cloth were lined up on the table, several standing on end to drape the fabric for best effect. Riker trailed after the doctor and waited while she glanced over the merchandise. “Captain Picard will be inspecting this station for Starfleet. Every scrap of information we can provide him will make his job easier.”
“Mmmm.” Beverly seemed more interested in the cloth. Quickly, Riker detailed the things he had personally noticed—the paintings, the mysterious appearance of the additional bowl of fruit with his requested apple. Beverly listened and appraisingly fingered a fold of tangerine-colored material.
“Don’t you see how questionable these incidents are?” Riker concluded.
“I’m afraid I don’t. What really happened? The Bandi came in and changed the decor in your rooms—at your request. A bowl of fruit that you hadn’t noticed—”
“I’m sure it wasn’t there.”
“A bowl that you hadn’t noticed,” Beverly went on firmly, “contained a piece of fruit you wanted. I really don’t believe Captain Picard will find that significant.” She picked up a bolt of maroon material and flared one end of it out to look at it in the light. “This would look lovely with a gold pattern in it,” she said to the waiting shopkeeper. The Bandi nodded and began to look further at the bolts of fabric he had on the table. Wesley watched the man with close interest as his mother turned to look directly at Riker. “I’m sure, Commander, there are reasons for a young first officer to want to demonstrate his efficiency, his astuteness, and his energy to his new captain.”
“Now just a minute—”
“But my duty and interests lie outside the command structure.” Beverly interrupted herself as she saw Riker staring past her at something that had caught his eye. The bolt of cloth that had been plain maroon before now had an intricate silver and gold figure worked into the background.
“Isn’t it nice that he happened to have exactly what you asked for?” Riker asked, with just a light touch of sarcasm.
Beverly glanced at him, then back at the merchant, who was smiling serenely and waiting for her decision. “Thank you. I’ll take the entire bolt. Send it to the Enterprise when it arrives, charged to Doctor Beverly Crusher.”
The merchant bowed and ticked off the information on a flat credit monitor that hung at his waist. Then he gathered up the bolt of cloth and took it inside the shop to be wrapped. Beverly looked around at Riker with a bemused expression on her face. Riker held out his hand, indicating a direction they could take. She nodded and walked with him.
“You were saying, Doctor?” Riker asked.
Beverly looked at him uncomfortably. “I was saying that you were inventing work in order to curry favor and impress your new captain.” Her chin came up and she met his eyes squarely. “I apologize for that, Commander Riker.”
“My name’s Bill.”
“Yes, I know.”
“That gold-patterned cloth wasn’t in the pile when we first looked at it, Mother. I’m sure of it,” Wesley said.
“I agree.” Beverly paused and looked back at the shop where the merchant had once more appeared behind the table to present his wares. “Maybe this is something Jean-Luc would be interested in knowing.”
“Jean-Luc? You know Captain Picard?”
Wesley interrupted proudly. “He served on the Stargazer with my father.”
Beverly put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and smiled apologetically at Riker. “Wes. Commander Riker isn’t interested in family history. I couldn’t say I know Captain Picard personally, Commander. We met, that’s all. And it was a long time ago.” She frowned thoughtfully. “That incident with the cloth was peculiar. Tell you what, I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know anything else I see.”
“I appreciate it—Beverly, isn’t it?”
She nodded, concealing a smile. Most senior officers were on a first name basis on any ship, but she had no intention of letting young Bill Riker get too familiar too fast. Still, his observations on the odd incidents that had occurred appeared to have some basis in fact. What were the Bandi, and what were their intentions with this staging station? Riker was correct in asking everyone he could contact to stay alert and report anything unusual for Picard’s attention.
“Sir—” They turned as Geordi LaForge hurried up to them. “The Enterprise is arriving, but—”
“Is this an official report, Lieutenant?” Riker interrupted crisply.
“Sorry, Commander.” LaForge pulled himself up to attention and delivered the message formally. “Sir. Lieutenant LaForge reporting the Enterprise is now arriving, but without the saucer section.”
Riker exchanged a quick, concerned look with Beverly. “Stardrive section only? What happened?”
“No information, sir. Captain Picard has signalled that he wants you to beam up immediately.”
“Our new captain doesn’t waste time,” Beverly observed.
“Which makes it a good rule for me, too,” Riker said wryly. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I appreciate your finding me so quickly.”
“Yes, sir,” LaForge said. “Sir, if I may, Ensign Hughes and I noticed something earlier that we thought worth bringing to your attention—”
Riker raised his hand. “File a report with me back aboard ship.” He touched the communicator worn on the left breast of his uniform. “Enterprise, this is Commander Riker on Farpoint Station. Standing by to beam up.”
“Enterprise to Riker. Energizing.”
The air around Riker shimmered and danced. Slowly the glittering beams covered his image, and then faded away into thin air. Beverly had never ceased to be amazed at the transporter process, even though she was fully aware of its operating principle. Starfleet technology was replete with wonderful achievements, but the method of disassembling the corporate atoms of an object or a living being, transporting them across vast distances of space, and then reassembling them perfectly was one of their greatest. She reached out to put her arm around Wesley’s shoulders and nodded to LaForge.
“If you’ll excuse us, Lieutenant—now that the Enterprise is here, we have to make our plans to beam aboard too.”
“It’s only the battle section, ma’am,” LaForge said. “We don’t know what they’ve been through . . . or where the saucer section is.”
Beverly looked at him levelly, her face untroubled. “Then I’m sure Captain Picard will enlighten us. When he feels it’s appropriate for us to know.”
Chapter Five
NO ONE EVER remembered the instant of actual transportation. One was simply in one place when it began, and another when it ended.
Riker watched as the transporter effect drained away around him. Seen from inside, the glittering sparkle created by the beam was a beautiful dance of color and shifting light.
As the beam died, he flashed an automatic look of assessment around the room. It was larger than the ones on the other ships in which he had served. Its colors were muted pastels and beige and soothingly pleasant.
The transporter chief behind the control console nodded to him, but it was the tall blonde woman in ship’s operations uniform who briskly stepped forward to meet him.
Encounter at Farpoint Page 7
